


Retrograde

by Cosmic_Biscuit



Category: Girl Genius
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Complicated Relationships, Drama, Gen, Memory Loss, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-27
Updated: 2012-09-27
Packaged: 2017-11-15 04:03:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/522935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cosmic_Biscuit/pseuds/Cosmic_Biscuit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was only supposed to keep him out of trouble. That was all they'd agreed to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Retrograde

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written in 2008.

_It's for the best._  
  
It had become her mantra, repeated as often as possible in her head as she climbed the stairs and unlocked the trap door.  
  
The pile of drawings she saw off to the side had gotten larger since yesterday, but she didn't touch them. None of them were finished, she knew that already, and so she merely shook her head to clear the small ache of guilt that threatened to rise at the sight of them, and climbed the rest of of the way through.  
  
He was sitting in the soft chair she'd had placed -bolted- by the window, and she noted absently as she approached that the heavy pad of drawing paper settled in his lap was beginning to get thin. As was he, but she tried not to think about that.  
  
"What's this one going to be?" she asked when he didn't look up as she came closer.  
  
"I don't know yet," was the quiet reply as she moved to stand behind the chair. "I started out with-"   
  
She let him keep talking as she carefully prepped the specialized syringe she'd brought with her, but couldn't bring herself to actually listen to the schematics he was describing, or look at the drawings themselves.  
  
He only briefly paused with a small noise of pain as the syringe fit neatly into the spinal port at the back of the heavy silver collar, then he was talking again, and she took a seat in the chair across from him. She always hated this part, but she always made herself watch out of some twisted sense of responsibility.  
  
The process had never really changed over the past several months. His hand paused in sketching and his voice trailed off into empty silence, and she knew that, even though his head was down and she couldn't see his eyes this time, that they were glazing over.  
  
And still were, when he looked up with a confused blink. "Was... was I saying something?"  
  
"No," she replied, and bit her lip as he dazedly rubbed his head and looked back down at his schematics, no longer recognizing what he'd been doing.  
  
"Oh. When did you get here?"  
  
"A few minutes ago." She got up and gently took the drawing pad from him, then helped him unsteadily to his feet. "You should get to bed. I'll bring you something to eat later."  
  
"You're leaving already?" The forlorn disappointment, so unlike him, never failed to sting.  
  
"I'm sorry." That was true. "I'll stay longer tomorrow." That was the lie, and some part of her wished that he would call her on it, the way he had when she'd first had him sealed away up here. But he merely nodded and obediently laid down when she gave him a gentle push, and she quickly turned away. The drawing was pulled out and laid on top of the stack, and she headed back downstairs through the trap door.

  
  
===

  
  
_"We'd convinced the adults to let us go skating, and the ice broke under Anevka. The idiot went in after her before the servants could, and they both ended up with pneumonia. Grandma was mad as hell that he would have jeopardized himself like that, and that just made_ them _mad, so they were always sneaking to visit each other while they were sick."_  
  
In hindsight, she was an idiot for not figuring it out sooner. They had never referred to each other by name, but she should have caught it when he began looking at her with that same confused lack of recognition as his own drawings. Or she should have studied said drawings before.  
  
Either way, it shouldn't have taken a psychosomatic imitation of pneumonia and a plea to see his older sister for her to realize that the collar wasn't just temporarily breaking down _short_ -term memory as a side effect.  
  
The evidence was all right there in front of her, if she'd just bothered to read it instead of leaving the stack there to rot. The newer the schematics were, the cruder, but more complete the drawings were, and now she knew _why_. He'd already designed them before, he just didn't remember doing so. He didn't remember his sister and father's deaths either, or her, or Lucrezia, or... dammit, _any_ of the things that she'd originally agreed to the collar over. He was fourteen years old and sick from having saved his sister from drowning, not twenty-seven and locked away to keep a damaged and seething conspiracy from finding its figurehead.  
  
She blew out a frustrated breath and rested her head in her hands as she stared at the drawings. This wasn't supposed to happen.

  
  
===

  
  
"I'm discontinuing the chemical injections," she muttered, half to herself and half to the woman brushing her hair as they sat in her room later that night.  
  
"Is that a good idea?" Zeetha asked, handing over the brush to be put back on the dresser, and they both knew she didn't just mean the plan itself.  
  
"No, but I can't keep doing this. I only agreed to that stupid collar idea in the first place because it was supposed to keep him quiet enough not to make trouble. I didn't agree to forced amnesia, accidental side effect or not." And she wasn't going to tell her husband either, was the unspoken addition. It wasn't that she didn't trust Gil, God knew they'd gotten over _that_ hurdle, it was just... She knew how he'd never approved of keeping a rival so close, and the last thing she needed was to give another basis for an argument for returning her patient to the cells on Castle Wulfenbach. Agreeing to the surgery had been cruel enough, it seemed now.  
  
The green-haired woman eyed her. "You're sure he's not faking?"  
  
"I'm sure. You didn't see the way he shut down every time the drug cocktail kicked in. He's a good actor, but not _that_ good." She raked a hand through her hair in agitation. "If I have to, I'll keep him on some mild sedatives, but I'm _not_ stripping out any more of his memory."  
  
A hand caught hers and squeezed reassurance. "I'm sure you'll make it work out."  
  
It didn't help much, but she managed a tiny smile anyway.

  
  
===

  
  
Withdrawal had been brutal. He sobbed and lashed out and writhed as fever and hallucination and burning agony lit up his spine and brain on top of the pseudo-pneumonia. And she'd stayed there for all of it, the same uncomfortable weight of responsibility keeping her from leaving him alone to suffer.   
  
A sickening wash of relief settled in the first time that he finally slept, and she sank into the chair at his bedside with a sigh. Damn shame she had to keep her change of plans secret from the Baron, she thought bitterly as she took off her glasses and rubbed tired eyes. Otherwise, she'd very much enjoy telling him _exactly_ what she thought of his creation's after-effects.   
  
"I heard the screaming stop."  
  
She jumped slightly and twisted around the side of the chair to see Zeetha pop up through the trap door. "Yeah. He's asleep." Her nose caught the smell of food, and her stomach gave an embarrassingly loud growl. "Please tell me that's dinner."  
  
The other woman chuckled and hefted herself one-handed through the door, a tray balanced on her other. "At least the worst of it's over, yeah?" she asked, handing it over.  
  
She didn't even care that it was bad manners, she practically inhaled the first bowl of soup before managing a reply. "Not yet. I still have to find a way to explain to him that what family of his that isn't dead already all either want to kill him or break him into a puppet." 'Not that that hasn't almost happened already,' her mind added darkly as the other woman pulled up the second armchair and settled in beside her.  
  
"You need to get some rest, you look like death warmed over."  
  
"I'm fine. Once I'm sure he'll be asleep for awhile, I'll catch a nap."  
  
So she'd said, but she didn't actually remember going to sleep. Just opening her eyes and finding Zeetha and the tray gone, a blanket draped over her, and her captive patient still sleeping. Fighting back a yawn, she got to her feet to check him, finding him still pale and feverish, still with a low rasp in his breathing...  
  
Still probably thinking he was a kid and his sister was alive.  
  
"Maybe I'm worrying about this too much," she muttered to herself. The chemicals had undoubtedly burned their way out of his system by now. Maybe regaining his memories would be part of the recovery process. Maybe she wouldn't have to come up with a pack of lies to feed him after all-

  
  
===

  
  
-And maybe she'd just been deluding herself, she amended several days later as she fought the urge to squirm under his stunned gaze.  
  
"Father's... gone?"  
  
"You've been unconscious for a very long time," she lied from the script that she'd been going over in her head for nearly a week, and still felt a little disgusted with herself over how easily the words came. _This is sick_ , part of her mind railed at taking advantage of the fact he didn't even remember having asked her to see his sister a few days before. But still, she plowed on. "The pneumonia took you much stronger than it did your sister, and your father had to-"  
  
"What about Anevka? Can I see her?"  
  
She swallowed thickly. "No. No, you can't."  
  
Watching him practically wilt as he caught the meaning in her tone made her stomach sour a little, and suddenly, the wild ideas were coming in an effort to somehow make this easier. If, by chance, the elder Sturmvoraus sibling wasn't in her protective jar anymore, he would have had to hide her himself. And Sturmhalten was big, but she had full access, and it couldn't possibly be all that hard to find her and-  
  
No, no, _no_. Even if she could have made it work, there was probably a _reason_ he hadn't tried it himself when Anevka had died, and whatever that reason was, it would probably just make things worse in the long run. She kept herself from rubbing her head, because now _really_ wasn't the time to be getting frustrated, and put a hand on his back instead as she made herself continue spinning the tale.  
  
"She didn't tell us everything that was going on, other than it was some sort of family issue, but I do know this much; she brought you here to protect you."  
  
There was a hitched sob in response, and the pang in her chest stabbed a little deeper as he hunched over. "Stupid," he mumbled, voice more despairing than derisive. "I never wanted her to do something like that for me."   
  
_She didn't,_ replied a nasty little voice in the back of her mind that sounded too much like her mother, and she viciously crushed it as she rubbed his back and got up, telling herself that she wasn't fleeing. Really. "Try and get some rest," she said gently as she stepped back from the bed. "And I'll bring you something to eat, all right?"  
  
"It's okay?"  
  
She pasted on a warm smile, hoping he didn't see it waver as the guilt swirled. "You're safe here, I promise."  
  
He looked back down at his hands, mind probably back on trying to piece things together in any way that makes sense, and she let out the breath she hadn't been aware of holding before lowering herself through the trapdoor.

  
  
===

  
  
It was after a month -and the fact that he'd reacted to her identity with only a slightly awed sort of curiosity instead of the suspected advances- that she'd come to the conclusion that the primary effect of the drugs had become as permanent as the secondary, and only considerable force of will kept her from dwelling on the question of whether it would have been so if she'd stopped giving it to him sooner. Capable of opening view-windows into the past she may have been, she couldn't actively _change_ it yet, so she needed to be focusing on the now and tomorrow.  
  
Like what she was going to do with him.  
  
With his aptitude as a Spark slowly returning, and none of the vicious deviousness that had always driven her up the wall with it, he could make a valuable ally. She'd already tested him enough to know he was becoming capable of complicated plans and tactics again, and with the Order back in the shadows and plotting, that would be useful. More than that, as he was, he really didn't deserve to be sealed away like some prisoner or asylum inmate. However... Without that devious streak, he was a sitting duck. He couldn't even lie to _her_ (despite Zeetha's gleeful coaching); he'd never be able to lie his way past his own family. Never mind playing them to her advantage, he'd never even be able to keep them from breaking him back into their plans.  
  
And that wasn't even counting all the potential trouble with the Baron if he was spotted by the wrong people.   
  
She puffed a stray bit of hair out of her face as she closed the ledger she'd been absently noting down the argument sides in -she'd have to remember to toss the pages in the Castle incinerator later- and sank deeper into her chair. She wasn't sure that it was a good thing or a bad thing that coming up with stories to tell him was getting easier by the day.

  
  
===

  
  
He always looked up with a smile when she opened the trap door and climbed through, and she never knew whether it was her, or that he was just glad to be visited at all. She preferred not to ask, and thought about it as little as possible. "Anything new today?"   
  
"The trellises were poking your bearded friend in the vegetable garden," he replied as she set his dinner tray down, and she couldn't help laughing a little at the neatly sketched picture of Moloch being harassed that was tucked into the corner of his latest designs when she saw it.   
  
"What's this one?" she asked, leaning on the back of his chair and pointing to another drawn vignette below it, and as he launched into the tale of the courtyard clank guards deciding that the guests trying to picnic by the rose garden was vandalism, she rested her chin on her hand and listened with half an ear.  
  
 _He's healing,_ she noted to herself, nodding when he looked up at her for approval after switching over to talk shop about the designs he'd been coming up with. It wasn't in the way she'd hoped, really. With everything that had happened, whether he remembered it or not, and all the things that had the potential to happen, this would never truly be settled. That little niggling of guilt, while it had eased, would probably never truly vanish while he remained in this tower.   
  
But he was getting better, in a fashion, and for now, she decided that was enough. Reaching over to swipe one of the cups and the teapot, she turned off her worries for the moment and focused her attention on schematics and cartoons from the window's viewpoint.


End file.
